


cast the compass 'round

by clutzycricket



Series: For and Against the Devil [7]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Demons, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crossover, Discussion of Human Trafficking, Jon Snow Knows Nothing, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-08-28 03:19:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8429461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clutzycricket/pseuds/clutzycricket
Summary: Jon Snow and Ashley Seaver may have stumbled onto the best lead in months on the mysterious Littlefinger. Jon has a bad feeling about this.Well, he isn't wrong. He just doesn't know how bad it's going to get.





	1. Chapter 1

Jon was seriously questioning Seaver’s self-preservation instincts. They couldn’t drive all the way into the house, so Ashley had hopped the stones across the creek and was walking along what Jon thought was originally a deer track.

 

(He was really hoping that it was just being used by high schoolers for keggers or whatever the most realistic version of the movies were. Knowing their luck, he was thinking it was going to involve… cultists, zombies, possibly vampires.)

 

“Ashley,” he asked, sounding a lot like Sansa before laying the smackdown, “did you ever watch a horror movie in your life?”

 

“Never saw the need,” she said, looking over her shoulder. “Besides, I have my own personal guardian demon,” she added, nearly smiling. “Also, defense training.”

 

Calling Rhaenys would have been the sensible thing. Except this was a work thing, and as much as the universe laughed at his attempts, he wanted to work without the supernatural interfering.

 

Besides, he wanted to keep his brittle, brilliant sister safe, and after realizing that Littlefinger and the Mockingbird were the same person, he wanted her safe in San Antonio surrounded by drop-in cousins.

 

“If I say run, you  _ run _ ,” he said, perhaps a bit too sharply- he sounded like Dad on a high horse sometimes, as Blue said. The problem was, he knew that if there was a mage-trap, he'd have a better chance at survival then she did. Plus, Blue would probably get him out and mock him to Brooklyn.

 

“You got something?” Ashley asked, curious and not a bit afraid. 

 

Seriously, self-preservation. Humans were fragile. She knew this.

 

“Nothing useful,” he said, remembering the cloud of magic about Jeyne Poole- they were pretty sure that Littlefinger had handled him herself, for the Lannisters. Blue had killed Tywin, so he couldn’t ask him, but Cersei was locked up and refusing to talk. 

 

(Which meant, Oberyn Martell had spat, forgetting Jon’s presence, that Rhaegar had stirred from his books long enough to ensure Cersei didn’t rant about magic. That was Dad, only remembering to do his job when it made everyone’s life harder.)

 

“The rest of the team is only ten minutes behind us,” Ashley reminded him. “Think we should scout it out? If there is, y’know…”

 

Jon looked wryly at her. “I’m fairly sure Swann knows.” There had been three Swann sisters in the city, once upon a time, and he was fairly certain that Andi was one of them. He didn't say anything, because he knew the stories, but it was obvious if you knew how to look.

 

“Does anyone else?” Ashley asked, raising an eyebrow.

 

Jon made a show of where he hid the gun- he didn’t want her forgetting it, and gunpowder didn’t shift well- and leapt onto four feet. He’d manage things easier in this form, and with a decent illusion could probably circle the grounds in time to fix his hair before the team arrived.

 

Burnt poppies, Callahan had told him, when Jeyne Poole was found, strong enough that even he could smell it with no magic. Jon, trying to trace him and getting next to nothing- he needed a two-way connection to get people, or something stronger than broken spells with no anchors- had gotten the fleeting feeling of burnt matches under his fingers, just beginning to cool.

 

When the ground under his paws felt like charcoal and the smell creeped in, he paused, wondering at his options. Littlefinger might be here. Which was a problem- he had no idea what Andi could do, Ashley’s turn of mind made her illusion-resistant, and Jon was a bit of a blunt instrument, magic wise. 

 

He could do a number of things, right now, but he was probably going to need to sneak off, spooked as any large stray dog. 

 

His steps were cautious, ears back, ready to bolt.

 

There had been something here, he mused, but they had gotten out not too long ago.

 

Maybe, he told himself with a dry, embittered thought, about half an hour after the team had arrived?

 

But the magical signature, his father had taught him, was as unique and telling about a person as seeing their soul. He could match this, even unofficially, to the kidnapping of Jeyne Poole.

 

Jeyne had been Sansa’s friend, he recalled, stepping cautiously over to Seaver. She’d been involved somehow in what happened with Uncle Ned… not guilty, but merely in the wrong place at the wrong time. Uncle Ned had been picking the girls up after work, and Joffery had shown up. Jeyne had gone missing that night, and shown up a year later.

 

And now, three months later, the same traces were being found in an abandoned house in rural Michigan.

 

He shifted and stood, fluid through an embarrassing amount of practice. (Blue had kept a tally, at one point.) “Right, Ashley, Littlefinger was here.”

 

“You’re sure?” Ashley asked, head tilted.

 

“It’s the same person who spelled Jeyne, and kept the spells on her,” he said, accepting his gun and trying to fix his hair. (It never lay right after he changed.) “The Lannisters were big enough, and ruthless enough, he wouldn’t have pushed it off to a lackey.”

 

“He’s big on keeping his hands clean, but the Lannisters liked having control over their messes,” Ashley guessed. He nodded. “The Lannisters needed him for it, because human trafficking wasn’t one of the charges levelled against any of them, not until Jeyne.”

 

“Right,” he agreed. “Winter magic has a lot to do with blood and sacrifice, in the darker aspects, and they had to be careful what they did. Sansa had a shock to her abilities when Joffrey did something stupid.” As much as he trusted Seaver, and the shit she’d told him, he also knew how private his cousin was. He wouldn’t share more details than he needed to. “Killing Jeyne would have risked consequences, when they already beheaded the man in charge of the winter mages.”

 

She tilted her head. “So they primed a bomb, and killing Jeyne would make it go off?” She had a decent grasp of magical theory, as it pertained to Targaryens, at least.

 

He shrugged. “Among other reasons. There is a lot you can do with the blood of a winter witch, so they might have thought she’d be able to do it. There was a lot of reasons they could have had, but she would have been a good bait to get Littlefinger to do business with them.” Andi and Sofia were pulling up, and he jerked his head towards the creek. At least he thought it was a creek. He’d only been with the team about a year and a half, and he’d always been a city child before that.

 

(He’d have to share the mental image of Rhaegar Targaryen camping with someone, later. Blue would cackle.)

 

“Instead they fell, and Littlefinger vanished,” Seaver finished. “Which leaves me with one really important question.”

 

“Why is Littlefinger bothering with the personal touch here, when he’s done it maybe twice in twenty years?” Jon kept a careful eye on the stones as they crossed. 

 

“Pretty much, yeah,” Seaver said. “And if the demon doesn’t know of any missing mages…”

 

“And there aren’t any mage families in a position to cause damage,” Jon added, seeing the glare of sun off the SUV. “Maybe the Rogares trying to gain influence, from Charlestown, but I can’t see him working with them personally. The Tyrells, maybe? But I can’t see Mace Tyrell in this.” Lysa Arryn… nah. Lysa would probably choke the air from his lungs. The  _ culebras _ , down below the southern border? They might have the cash. There were a few smaller operations he’d heard about, but the Sand Snakes would probably have a list on hand. Andi might. Her oldest sister was still in the city, and worked with the Martells a bit, during the war, not to mention helping get Arya to him.

 

He had too many options, and not enough data. 

  
(There was always Plan X, which he was never, ever verbalizing. He did have that much self-preservation.)


	2. Chapter 2

“You do know I’m hardly an expert in the things all the various magical families are into, right?” Rhaenys said over speakerphone.

 

Ashley looked up from the files, waiting for the second part. Rhaenys was a semi-official consult, registered as a specialist in dead languages and rituals, but everyone knew what she was really for. (She’d actually managed to pull off the paperwork as Rhaenys Targaryen, even if the paperwork was slightly… off. Jon’d mentioned asking her to legitimize it over the next few decades, if she didn’t get killed. Since, as far as Ashley could tell, demons drew violence like flies, that wasn’t very likely. But then again, she wasn’t even entire sure Rhaenys was a demon? Jon was weird about it, which meant he was hiding something. She'd seen the files on the break-in, knew it was something about that, which was also why Jon didn't like involving her despite Rhaenys being a walking encyclopedia or a more comfortably sociable version of Reid. Considering her own history, Ashley was pretty sure any theories of protecting a girl from the darkness after it already ruined your childhood were doomed to fail, and trying to save others was actually better for you than the alternative, provided you found the best outlet, but as long as everyone seemed happy, she wasn't going to interfere.)

 

“Michigan,” Jon said. “I’m trying to figure out what they need from Michigan.”

 

“Giant lakes,” Rhaenys said. “Isn’t there a giant mall?”

 

“That’s Minnesota. But Detroit, Flint, a few other cities, the Canada border?” Ashley guessed. “Sports?”

 

“Both?” Jon mused. “Using it as a rest spot to ferry trafficking victims across the border?”

 

“Probable- I’d ask around with the Detroit and Flint groups, they’re pretty on top of their shit,” Rhaenys said, thoughtfully. “I know the Kendra’s pack just ousted a strix nest that tried to settle there. Arianne was telling me that they were twitting the Vegas Rogeres about it, and there should have been an investigative committee, since the nest would have needed to immigrate. It’s not the first issue that should have gotten caught- the Lannister mess made it hard, and I won’t pretend Dad was as on top of his responsibilities as he should have been.”

 

“Blue told me about the incident you had,” Jon said. “Something about a witch draining people?”

 

“...How does Blue know?” she asked. “It just happened. Did he put a spell on the ER?”

 

“He… I’m not going to answer that, because Blue can defend himself, and will probably have a good answer,” Jon said, after a moment. Ashley grinned. “But I think the write up might be interesting, since it matches with an old magpie case the BAU handled. There was a family kidnapping little girls to act as wives. What the nonmagicals didn’t realize, but some people managed to piece together, is that all the girls were talented. We’re not sure how they got noticed, but the families would use a spell jar with a broken glass base, sacrifice the family, and… we’re still piecing it together.”

 

“So you and a few people are basically keeping an ear out in hopes of finding a thread,” Rhaenys guessed.

 

“You hear anything?” Jon asked.

 

“No, I’ve heard nothing, but I don’t go out much, and not usually with blood sorcerers,” Rhaenys deadpanned.

 

“No, they just do sloppy spellwork hoping it’ll fry you,” Jon said, unthinkingly. Blue had sounded upset about that. Jon had thought that Rhaenys was more capable of defending herself, but Blue remembered Rhaenys when she was in the hospital, so he let it go.

 

“Dammit, how did Blue find out? I’m fine, Jon, I’m not spun out of glass. The parasitic little… I am totally allowed to make height jokes… look, she has no magic to hit me with, and the cousins helped with security. I’ll be fine. Best of luck, and please don’t get put on any sacrificial altars…again.” Rhaenys clicked off, and Ashley looked interestedly at him.

 

“Sacrificial altars, huh?”

 

“We don’t talk about that, ever,” Jon said, feelingly. 

 

Sisters.

 

~

 

Lysa was keeping Petyr away from the Eyrie, away from Robin. She’s not sure why. It’s Petyr, who trailed after her and Catie like a puppy, who she would have run away with in a heartbeat if he’d asked.

 

Who’d known about magic, who could cast brilliant illusions with his voice. Who her father didn’t think important, so he wouldn’t have bothered trying to convince him Lysa married Jon of her own free will.

 

If Petyr was her friend, then why didn’t he say anything, try to convince Catie, or help Lysa?

 

Brienne and Renly ask the same thing, when she mentions that Petyr is coming around, and Shyra is frowning. They are happy she has a life. 

 

“You deserve one, Lysa,” Shyra said, the lawyer biting her lip. “But don’t… look, I hear Baelish mentioned in the same context as a lot of seriously shadowy investments. Even for mages. Ponzi schemes have been discussed, though to the best of my knowledge the investigation fizzled out after the investigator died in a car wreck.”

 

Renly frowns. “I remember him- Cersei used him for some things, maybe Robert, but the paperwork is all a mess.”

 

Brienne sighed. “Stannis might know more?”

 

“Probably- I was too busy trying not to end up in the ER. Rhae’s a bit far away to be fixing me up now, you know?” he shrugged. “I know he bugged out when everything went south, though.”

 

She remembers that- he had excuses, plenty of them, and didn’t attend Catie’s memorial service. (Sansa’s Quentyn managed to find a priest who was willing to perform the admittedly… unorthodox ceremony, since Catie died twice. Ish. She’s not too sure how much of her sister was actually around the second time.)

 

She still hopes, though, and she puts in gold and pearl earrings that she picked out in a recent shopping trip and a flattering green dress when she meets Petyr for dinner. Brienne agreed to watch Robin for the night, and her son was eagerly designing a new auditorium when she left.

 

Petyr’s face doesn’t hide disappointment well, which is his first strike. She isn’t as slight as she was at seventeen, but Petyr has far too much grey, and that goatee makes him look like a villain or a hipster.

 

She smiles at the waiter, who is a new boy the maitre’d introduced her to three weeks ago, when she took Shyra here for a business meeting. Eric is a sweet boy with a talent for timing, a flair for pouring drinks, and Misha says he’s hoping to go into law school when he finishes with his undergraduate degree.

 

“Capellini Positano and a glass of the house rose, please,” she said with a wink. Eric grinned, knowing  _ exactly _ what she meant. 

 

“Pollo San Marco, with a glass of chardonnay,” Petyr said. “Now, Lysa,” he started, and she sent Eric an apologetic look and reminded herself to tip extra generously. 

 

Strike two.

 

Three glasses to his one, she can barely follow his labyrinth of words as he tries to explain his shipping firm to her. It’s made him money, she gets that- it isn’t a fake Rolex on his wrist, and his clothes are expensive without being obnoxiously flashy.

 

But this is strike three.

 

Because she’s been diving into protecting Robin’s future, and that includes his investments. Renly has been a bit of an ass, but he grew up with this, and is happy to talk about insurance, what makes something a rotten or safe bet, and how to spot bad investments at length. And Petyr isn’t mentioning the companies he’s dealing with, he isn’t mentioning product, he isn’t bringing up a single bit of paperwork, just presuming on her childhood infatuation and her years of isolation, the fucker.

 

He doesn’t mention offering her documentation, and Eric, who is listening as he serves their meal, shoots her a curious look. She raises an eyebrow and watches his grin.

 

Misha’s place had been one of Catie and Ned’s old haunts, before everything, and Old Ned had always hated getting drunk in front of people. So if you asked for the house rose, Misha would make sure your glass was non-alcoholic, with your party none the wiser.

 

Petyr, of course, doesn’t know this, just watches her drink get replaced.

 

Something about this is wrong, she knows, and the gleam in Petyr’s eye, the same one he got when he put spiders in Uncle Brynden’s bed, is not very comforting. She’ll play the silly fool tonight, agree to nothing, and call Shyra when she goes home. 

 

Then she’ll lock her doors and pray she is merely seeing shadows in the winds again, rather than another storm, so soon after the last.


End file.
